Drinking on a Friday Night Can Be Eggcruciating

We went out for lunch for Charlie’s farewell. He sat opposite me. We’d already been joking about me having a beer and he having a girlie sweet, white wine. He had a monstrous hamburger. I told him it would be a girlie effort if he didn’t pick it up and chomp into it. He replied with, “I need my mouth stretched.” Looking at me when he’d said it. I laughed. He said, staring straight at me. “No, I really do.”

Then there was after work drinks for him. He’s heading back to Singapore. He leaves in a week and then he starts his new job the following week.

"I'll walk out with you," he said, as I was leaving work drinks. "You will come tomorrow night, won't you? To my farewell in Prahran."

"Yes," I said. "Of course."

I was seedy by the time I was walking up Bourke Street. Actually, I was quite pissed, so much so, that I caught a tram. It was too much effort to walk.

I was too seedy, by the time I was home, to do any thing so I settled on the couch.

David wanted to watch Nanny McPhee and by the time I got myself settled on the couch with the red blanket, with the remote in hand, Nanny McPhee started just as David walked in the door.

I felt like crap – pissed, headache’y, a little nauseous. (Nanny McPhee wasn’t helping) Blur!

Something was said, in the movie, about scrambled eggs and I wondered if eating something would make me feel better. I hadn’t eaten, maybe I should.

I got to my feet. I felt okay, a little queasy. A bit of a head. I can do it, I thought. I got to the kitchen and got the eggs from the fridge. I got a bowl and milk. I broke one egg.

“David, do you want scrambled eggs too?”

I broke the second egg into the bowl.

“No thanks,” said David. “I’ve already eaten.”

I broke the third egg. OMG! It came out like stale urine, with the yolk looking like a bag containing a mouldy foetus. Green. It was green. Mould is my nemesis. It is the one thing that really, absolutely, turns my stomach.

I stepped away from the bench with a yelp. David got up and looked over into the kitchen.

“I’ve never had an egg do that,” I said.

“Does it stink?” asked David.

Then suddenly the smell was upon me. I ran from the kitchen, with my hands in the air, as my stomach turned over and started heading for my throat. I just have to get away from it, I thought. But the smell came with me, I couldn’t get away from it. My stomach was retching, heaving into my mouth. Over and over! No matter how far I ran away, I couldn’t get away from the smell. I was gagging and gagging. I was having trouble breathing, I was gagging so badly. Until I realised, I had the rotten egg on my hands, the hands I had up near my face. I was still gagging as I tried to wash my hands in the bathroom. Finally, my hands were clean and the smell was gone. For a moment there, I thought I was going to pass out the retching was so bad.

I looked up into the mirror, to see my complexion flushed red and my eyes red and watering. I looked one hundred years old. I looked pissed. I looked as though I was about to die.